


Protect Me

by syriala



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bad Alpha Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Bad Friend Scott McCall (Teen Wolf), Cuddling & Snuggling, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Stiles Stilinski, Kinda, M/M, Pre-Slash, Protective Peter Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 19:53:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16793677
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/syriala/pseuds/syriala
Summary: The first time Stiles had gotten hurt for the pack, for Scott, had been by Gerard during the kanima mess. And even back then no one but Peter had noticed.





	Protect Me

The first time Stiles had gotten hurt for the pack, for _Scott_ , had been by Gerard during the kanima mess. And even back then no one had noticed. Blood had still trickled out from the split in his lip, his cheek bone was throbbing in time with his heartbeat and his ribs had felt like they were on fire. And yet Scott hadn’t even spared him a glance, too busy making puppy dog eyes at Allison, who had just tried to kill them all.

Derek hadn’t noticed either, but in Stiles book he had been excused, with how he had to deal with the new trauma Scott had inflicted on him. Lydia and Jackson had been a bit pre-occupied as well, and Peter. Well, Peter had looked Stiles up and down, eyes sharp and assessing, but when he had made a step towards Stiles, Stiles had fled.

So maybe it wasn’t completely fair to say _no one_ had noticed, because clearly Peter had, just like his dad had.

But Scott hadn’t, and since the message had been intended for him, that was kind of the worst. And it only continued to get worse once Scott became alpha.

Stiles was abducted and hurt almost regularly, and Scott never seemed to notice.

Once Stiles had come to a pack meeting, hurt and still bleeding and shaking all over, and Scott had looked at him once, before he asked how he always managed to get himself into these situations.

Stiles almost wanted to laugh at that because he also got himself out of these situations since Scott didn’t seem to care enough to go look for Stiles and come to his rescue.

Peter had slinked up to him in the kitchen that day, stepped between Stiles and the pack in the living room and leaned in close.

“If you would let me, I would take care of whoever did this to you,” Peter whispered, gently stroking his fingertips over Stiles’ busted cheek, drawing the pain out in the process.

The offer was—tempting, to say the least. Scott never dealt with the people who had hurt Stiles. He promised to hunt them down and deal with them, to chase them out of town and make sure that they could never hurt anyone and especially Stiles ever again, on the scarce moments he realized Stiles had been hurt at all, but nothing ever happened.

Stiles had seen the hunters in town who had gotten their hands on Stiles this time, just days after they had kidnapped Stiles and beat the shit out of him before he managed to escape; days after Scott had promised to deal with them and it had thrown Stiles right into a panic attack.

When Stiles had confronted Scott about it, Scott had blinked his puppy eyes at him and promised him that he had talked to them, had made sure that they knew never to do anything like that ever again.

Stiles had stared at him for a few seconds, before he left, too worked up to even talk to Scott anymore.

Stiles had been taken two more times since that time, times Scott hadn’t even noticed that Stiles had been missing for more than half a day. It had been Stiles’ dad, both times, who came to Stiles’ rescue, using plain old police work to find him. Whereas the so-called true alpha couldn’t even be bothered to realize his best friend was missing, or god forbid, put his werewolf senses to some goddamn use.

And now, now Stiles was yet again beat and covered in his own blood, shaking so much he was afraid his knees would just give out on him. He had gotten himself out of the warehouse, after taking beatings for almost a day, and Scott had been nowhere in sight.

Which was the reason why Stiles was weakly knocking at Peter’s door right now. His place had been closest to where Stiles had been held, but he also still heard Peter’s low voice, felt his whispered promise against his skin, promising him to keep him safe, if only Stiles would let him.

And Stiles was ready to let him, now.

Peter opened the door quicker than Stiles had expected, too used to Scott taking his sweet time reacting to Stiles, and Peter’s eyes flared blue when he looked Stiles up and down.

“Who do I kill?” Peter calmly asked, but Stiles could hear the growl at the edges of his words, could still see the supernatural glow in his eyes, and Stiles just slumped forward, leaning against Peter’s chest, forehead pressed to the hollow of his throat.

Peter didn’t seem to care that Stiles got blood all over his nice shirt, and instead place a hand gently on the back of Stiles’ neck, drawing the pain out of him.

“I don’t know who they are,” Stiles whispered, desperation licking up his spine.

If Peter couldn’t find them, couldn’t keep Stiles safe, then Stiles wouldn’t know what to do. This had been his hope, always in the back of his head, that Peter could do what Scott hadn’t been able to do, and Stiles was quickly steering into a panic attack again, desperately gripping at Peter’s shirt.

“That’s alright, darling, shhh,” Peter soothed him. “I’m gonna find them anyway.”

Stiles trembled in his arms, too relieved by what Peter said, and Peter continued to soothe him.

“Do you want to stay here, or do you want to go home?” Peter carefully asked, and Stiles felt his breath hitch in his throat.

He imagined waiting here for Peter to come back, hurt and alone in an apartment he didn’t know, and Stiles couldn’t stand that thought.

“Home, I want to go home,” he pleaded, and Peter immediately bundled him up in one of his many designer jackets, steering him towards his car without any comment.

Stiles apparently drifted off during the ride, because he startled badly when Peter suddenly stopped the car in front of his house. Peter must have called his dad, too, because John was standing on the porch, clearly waiting for them.

“What happened?” he asked as he walked up to Stiles’ side of the car and he pulled Stiles close, inspecting his wounds before he looked over to Peter, who hadn’t stepped away from the car.

“Don’t know, don’t care, but I’m going to handle it” Peter replied, sliding back behind the wheel.

Stiles could feel how his dad sucked in a sharp breath and he tensed in his arms. His dad knew what Peter was going to do and if he disapproved of that, Stiles was sure he would just shatter right here on the porch. This was the first time someone had acted with the clear intent do finally do something and if his dad stopped Peter now, Stiles would just break down.

“Be careful,” John said in a normal tone, clearly counting on the fact that Peter could still hear him, and the easy acceptance brought tears to Stiles’ eyes.

“Come on, kiddo,” John said and gently steered Stiles towards the house and immediately into the bathroom.

John had been on a double shift, so it was no wonder he hadn’t noticed yet that Stiles had been missing, but Stiles and Scott were supposed to meet like five hours ago, and clearly Scott hadn’t thought it to be strange at all when Stiles hadn’t shown up. He hadn’t even thought to call Stiles’ dad and inquire where he was, despite Stiles’ more than horrible track record.

“I’m so sorry,” Stiles said on the stairs, breath catching in his throat again, and his dad hugged him tightly once they reached the bathroom.

“No reason to be,” he whispered, before he sat Stiles’ down on the toilet seat and got the things he needed to clean out Stiles’ wounds.

“Don’t you think you should go to the hospital?” John softly asked when he saw the dark bruises on Stiles’ chest but Stiles shook his head so hard his vision blurred.

“No! Melissa will tell Scott and he’ll be disappointed,” Stiles got out and John frowned at him.

“Kiddo, do you even realize how that sounds?” he asked but Stiles couldn’t talk about this, couldn’t think about this anymore.

He just wanted to feel safe, whished he would get enough down time between kidnappings for his injuries to fully heal up before new ones were being added for once, and he looked down at his hands.

“Can I go to bed?” he asked, and John immediately agreed, thank god.

“Sure. Come here, I’ll get you something soft to sleep in,” he said after he’d wrapped Stiles’ ribs.

His dad quickly got him settled into bed, but Stiles felt too tense, too strung up to sleep, expecting to toss and turn all night, but he woke up with a start when he heard voices outside of his room. It was still dark outside and his head was still throbbing painfully, so Stiles couldn’t have been asleep for very long.

“You couldn’t have cleaned up before dropping by?” Stiles heard his dad ask with a sigh.

“He needs to see it to believe,” Peter immediately replied, and Stiles sat up in his bed, leaning forward in anticipation of Peter coming into his room.

When he finally did, Stiles momentarily forgot how to breathe. Peter’s hands were caked with blood, going up almost to his forearms, and Stiles spotted blood on Peter’s expensive shirt as well. There was blood on his face too, and Stiles had seen enough crime shows, not to mention stole glances at his dad’s files, to know that it was an arterial spray he was looking at.

Peter stood perfectly still, letting Stiles look his fill and Stiles could feel the tears spilling over.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he brokenly whispered again and again, sob after sob rattling his frame and Peter was there, gathering him close.

Stiles didn’t even care about the blood, felt strangely relieved when he felt it stick to his own shirt, and he gripped Peter tightly, afraid to let him go again.

“You’re safe now,” Peter mumbled into his hair, stroking his hand up and down Stiles’ back.

Stiles continued to sob in Peter’s arms, and Peter never once made Stiles believe that it was an imposition on him. Stiles heard his father come in once, but he felt too warm and protected in Peter’s arms to care about that.

“Don’t let them take me again,” Stiles pleaded eventually, when his tears were all dried up.

“I can’t promise that, Stiles,” Peter softly told him, and Stiles felt small and helpless, fear gripping at his heart again. “But I promise that I will always come for you, that I will always find you. And I will always kill whoever dared to lay a hand on you,” Peter quickly went on, immediately promising him that.

Stiles squeezed him even tighter at that. Stiles knew that Peter would make good on his promise, too, unlike Scott who had brushed Stiles off again and again.

“Come on, sweetheart, it’s time to sleep,” Peter eventually said, and guided Stiles back down on his bed.

“Don’t leave,” Stiles whispered. “Don’t leave me.”

He wasn’t sure if he would feel safe without Peter, if he could still believe that the people who had hurt him were dead when Peter wasn’t there anymore to remind him, but Stiles shouldn’t have worried.

Peter only stepped away far enough to tug his shirt over his head, grabbing one Stiles’ dad obviously had left for hm, before he toed off his shoes and then stepped back to Stiles’ bed.

“You want me stay on the chair?” Peter asked, and it seemed like a sincere offer, too.

But it felt wrong, banning Peter to the chair, and so instead Stiles lifted his blanket, inviting Peter in, without actually saying it.

Peter didn’t hesitate at all, sliding under the covers before pulling Stiles close. Stiles easily went with the motion, fisting his hands into Peter’s shirt once more.

“Thank you,” Stiles whispered again, struggling with the gratitude that threatened to overwhelm him.

“For you, always,” Peter immediately replied, starting up a soothing rumbling in his chest that Stiles quickly fell asleep to, still lingering pains eased by Peter’s hand on his nape, black veins crawling up his arms.

It was the first time in a long time that Stiles wasn’t plagued by nightmares, because he knew that Peter was there to protect him, no matter what. It was the best sleep he had gotten in a long time.

**Author's Note:**

> This story is finished and I won't be writing a sequel.


End file.
